


Herbie the Hobo

by ReymondStJames



Series: The Love Bug, The Series [3]
Category: Herbie (Movies)
Genre: Cars, Comedy, Friendship, Other, Racing, Series, Slice of Life, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReymondStJames/pseuds/ReymondStJames
Summary: Jackson takes Herbie and Roddy along to visit the Fillmore and Western Railway, but while railfanning, Herbie gets inspired to be a hobo. It’s an exciting chase for a bug in a boxcar!





	Herbie the Hobo

A phone rang in the front office of the Malibu Creek State Park. It was then accompanied by a loud crash before Jackson Furse burst out from the back office and smacked into the doorframe. Grunting in pain and panting for breath, he ran for the phone and grabbed it before it suddenly flew out of his hands. Still ringing, Jackson scrambled to catch it before the phone swooped down and conked him on the head before clattering onto the floor. Having sustained a second head injury for the day, he picked up the phone and answered.

 

“Malibu Creek State Park, this is Jackson speaking.” He announced, with the air of an educated and friendly park ranger.

 

“Hi,” Said the voice from the other end, “Is Jackson available?” Jackson blinked, incredulous.

 

“Uh, this is him.” He scratched at his curly hair, raising an eyebrow, “What can I help you with?”

 

“Are we still doing the thing tomorrow?” The voice asked. Jackson narrowed his eyes; he knew who it was already.

 

“Yeah, Roddy, we’re still doing the thing.” He replied, leaning on the counter, “Honestly, you’re the first call I had all day.”

 

“Really?” Roddy wondered, “Nobody’s visiting today?”

 

“It’s Friday and nobody’s here somehow.” Jackson shrugged, “Maybe just a slow weekend.” A couple beeps in the background then prompted him to ask, “What was that?”

 

“Oh, that was, uh, Herbie.” Roddy answered, “I’ll have to call you back!”

 

Roddy Garcia had just finished delivering another meal to a house in Boyle Heights and had decided to call Jackson before returning to the restaurant. As he was distracted with the call, his little living Volkswagen named Herbie had decided to invade a group of kids’ local game of soccer and decided to play with them. Now, the little car was giving the kids a wild, yet safe, ride up and down the suburban street. After hanging up, Roddy left the front lawn of the house he delivered to and stood on the curb, watching Herbie coming up for another run-past. Upon sighting the little car, Roddy whistled and waved his hand. Herbie quickly swerved and came to a stop at the curb, then opened his doors to let all the kids out.

 

“Come on, Herbie,” Roddy chuckled, pocketing his phone, “We have to go back to work.”

 

“Aww, but we liked playing with him!” One chubby boy stated.

 

“Yeah, he’s cool!” A girl nodded, her pigtails swinging alongside her head.

 

“Herbie’ll be back soon to play,” Roddy assured them as he climbed inside, “Isn’t that right, li’l guy?” 

 

With two sharp beeps, Herbie put himself into gear and headed away slowly down the street. The kids ran after him and cheered him on, prompting Roddy to grin as he watched them from the rear view mirror. As the end of the street got closer, Herbie beeped a final ‘goodbye’ and turned left, now picking up speed as the two raced back to Bicol Express. Roddy took the time to check his phone as Herbie navigated his way back.

 

“I do wonder,” His driver commented, “What’s gotten you so popular with kids?” Herbie seemed to shrug as he shifted side-to-side on his suspension and followed with a clueless beep. 

 

(o\ ! /o)

 

The next morning, a very sleepy Roddy and Herbie pulled up to Jackson’s apartment building in West Hollywood. The sun was barely rising in the East, shining a gentle, golden glow across the San Fernando Valley, and Roddy responded in kind by slipping his sunglasses on and slouching in his seat with a yawn. After a couple minutes of waiting, Roddy took Herbie’s wheel and gave the bug’s horn two loud honks. Immediately after, his cellphone rang with a message.

 

“Still getting ready, hang on.” Read Jackson’s text message. Roddy rolled his eyes and lowered Herbie’s sun visor, eager to get some needed shuteye before his friend arrived. 

 

Soon enough, Jackson emerged from his apartment lobby. This morning, he was clad in a green hoodie that protected him from the chill morning air, khaki jeans, and matching green sneakers. Across his body hung a khaki satchel that contained his camera and a bottle of water, and his familiar curly afro swayed and billowed in the morning breeze. He approached Herbie and gently patted the bug on the roof as he opened the door.

 

“Good morning, Herbie!” He said with a cheerful grin, “How’re you today?” Herbie let out one non-committal beep and shut the door as Jackson took his seat, the sound of which woke Roddy up from his brief nap.

 

“Oh, hey.” He said flatly, sitting up straight and putting on his seatbelt, “How is?”

 

“Oh, just fine this morning.” Jackson nodded back, taking his big, professional-looking camera out, “I even got this brand new camera to take pics of Number 14.” After getting met with a blank look from the unversed Roddy, he quickly added, “It’s the steam train there.”

 

“Nice.” Roddy understood, yawning as he was not versed in train terms as much as his friend. He put Herbie into gear and headed for the freeway, explaining, “Sorry for the drowsiness, was actually up all night adjusting some things on Herbie.”

 

“What were you adjusting?” Jackson wondered, his ears tuned to Herbie’s engine sounds now as they headed down Hollywood Boulevard.

 

“Distributor and carbs.” Roddy explained, “Little tweak here and there in preparation for that track day we got invited to. Also, I added in a USB port to Herbie’s new radio.” Roddy then rapped the unit on the dashboard with pride.

 

“Oh wow.” Jackson was impressed, asking, “Mind if I plug my phone in for the directions?”

 

“Why not?” Roddy offered, steering Herbie off Hollywood Boulevard and onto the 101 freeway. Jackson quickly got out his smartphone and plugged the charging cable into the radio. Herbie beeped questioningly, before locking onto the GPS and speeding onto the on-ramp. 

 

“Well, works out just fine.” Roddy smiled, letting his hands go of Herbie’s steering wheel and laying back to rest. “So,” he wondered, “What’s even gonna be there at this place we’re going to?”

 

“Well,” Jackson began, his excitement palpable, “The Fillmore and Western’s running their big steam locomotive, Number 14, on a couple passenger trains; then, at 11 or so, they got a photo freight to pull up the line so everyone can get a picture.” 

 

“A photo what?” Roddy questioned, too preoccupied with driving already.

 

“Oh, it’s when museums like where we’re going pull a slow freight train for the cameras; literally, a  _ photo _ freight.” Jackson exclaimed offhandedly, as if it was common knowledge to him and Roddy.

 

“I’ll bet,” Roddy replied, only having a cursory interest himself, “And how long are we out there?”

 

“Just until 3 or 4.” Jackson checked on his phone, “The railroad closes around that time, so… we’ll just be watching it.”

 

“Cool,” Roddy nodded, “Alright, when we get there, wake me up.”

 

“Will do!” Jackson nodded, saluting comically.

 

“I wasn’t talkin’ to you.” Roddy chuckled, to which Herbie raised his own right windscreen wiper in a mock-salute.

 

After almost half-an-hour on the road, Herbie left the freeway and headed onto a trunk road labled “California-126,” bound for Fillmore. There were two lanes on each side, with large trucks dominating the right lane while the left lane was full of cars trying to get past them. The sun, at this time, was rising higher in the sky, fully illuminating the picturesque Santa Clara River Valley. Herbie hung around on the right lane for a bit, behind a two-trailer gravel truck, but the rocks pelting the little car soon became intolerable and he shoved himself into the left lane, suddenly waking Roddy.

 

“Huh, where are we?” He yawned, sitting up straighter in his seat.

 

“Just almost to Fillmore,” Jackson replied, taking his earbuds out of his ears, “Herbie didn’t seem to like the gravel truck throwing rocks at him.” Herbie growled in response, and Roddy knew just how to make the little car better.

 

“Well,” He began, “I haven’t yet tested out all of Herbie’s adjustments, and seeing as we have all this road in front of us, why don’t we give them a shot?”

 

“Dude, that’s awesome!” Jackson nodded eagerly, making sure his seatbelt was nice and tight, “Yeah, let’s do it!”

 

“Okay!” Roddy exclaimed, looking to Herbie’s dash and taking a hold of his wheel. The little car held steady at 55 miles an hour, and already a line of cars were beginning to form around him. His engine purred in a single note, edging to go. Roddy gave one more look at Jackson, straightened his sunglasses, then focused back on the road.

 

“Let’s go!” He yelled and slammed Herbie’s gas pedal down.

 

Herbie let out a bugle cry on his horn before he suddenly reared up and wheelied. His little four-cylinder engine roared like a lion as the Volkswagen threw himself forward, shooting down the road instantly from 55 to 75, then to 95 and 100 miles an hour. The wind buffeted the bug, making Herbie firm up his rear shocks to keep himself from flipping, as every gentle curve on the 126 was taken as fast as his skinny tyres could take it. Inside, Roddy was in his element, hyperfocused on the road ahead of them and holding Herbie’s wheel steadily as the amateur racer whipped his bug past intersections and weaved in between cars. Jackson held tight to Herbie’s dashboard handle, feeling his heart race faster the higher Herbie’s speed went as they blasted through a bridge over a small creek and through a stoplight that almost became red.

 

Roddy looked at the speedometer; 120 miles an hour. He couldn’t believe it, even in his old Honda, he could never go this fast. But now, he was in a souped up - no,  _ magical  _ \- little Volkswagen that could go as fast as Roddy wanted to go! Pressing his luck further, Roddy hit Herbie’s gas pedal again but found that nothing was registering anymore. In fact, Herbie was starting to slow down, rapidly.

 

“What’s wrong, Herbie?” Roddy wondered, taking his foot off the gas and looking around the road for anything out of the ordinary. Herbie turned his right turn signal on, directing his driver’s attention to the right side, then put the song “Bad Boys” on his radio. Roddy recognized the song from the tv show “COPS”, but why Herbie was playing it soon became apparent.

 

A large billboard stood off to the side about a mile away, advertising the Santa Clarita Fruit Growers’ Association with a big red strawberry in front of a painting of the valley itself. However, what Herbie was really calling Roddy’s attention to was the police car lying in wait behind the billboard. The dozy police officer inside had his hands out and rigid straight and, in his hands, Roddy saw a tool that made the blood in racers like him chill: a radar gun. Quickly thinking, Roddy pushed on Herbie’s brakes harder and sent his tires squealing, thankfully with nobody behind them. As the little Volkswagen cruised past the billboard, the officer saw “53” read on his radar gun, well within the speed limit. When the police car was out of sight by the next bend, Roddy, Jackson, and Herbie all breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“That was too close!” Jackson chuckled, feeling the anxiety leave his system.

 

“I know, way too close.” Roddy concurred before patting Herbie’s steering wheel, “Thanks for that, Herbie.” Two little, appreciative honks greeted his ears as Herbie continued on down the road at a more sedate pace. 

 

After a few minutes, they arrived within the city limits of Fillmore. Over a railroad crossing and past a billboard that advertised train rides, the green farming valley gave way to a small town that reminded Roddy of what he might see on Route 66. Little liquor stores and mom-and-pop businesses commingled with huge chain groceries and fast food places, while the surroundings just made the town look downright cozy. Herbie turned off the 126 onto “A” Street and soon came to a stop at a railroad crossing that had its gates down. Roddy couldn’t help but see people gather around the crossing, all armed with cameras and recording devices, as a loud whistle echoed from their left. 

 

“Oh, that’s it!” Jackson cried out, undoing his seatbelt quickly and opening Herbie’s sunroof to stand outside. His camera was already primed and he used the top of the bug’s roof to stabilize it.

 

“What’s it?” Roddy looked up at his friend, then another loud whistle directed his attention to the tracks.

 

From around the bend, moving left to right, a large steam locomotive pulled into view, running backwards. The black paint glistened in the morning sun, and Roddy spotted an obvious “14” on the cab that Jackson mentioned. It was pulling a long train of passenger cars, all of which looked about as old as the engine itself, and all the people on board waved as the locomotive belched grey smoke into the air, staining the blue morning sky. The sounds of the bell and whistle were quite loud for Roddy as he rubbed his ears, but Jackson was enjoying it plenty, waving to anyone on the train who waved back. As the last of the cars vacated the crossing, the gates went up and Jackson slipped back down into his seat.

 

“That was loud.” Roddy commented dryly, driving Herbie over the crossing.

 

“Yeah, but it’s also super fun!” Jackson beamed, reviewing the footage on his camera, “Aw, this is gonna look great online.”

 

The Fillmore and Western Railroad Company was situated in a small park that was home to the main station, a small historical museum, and a large turntable. The yard was a spider web of steel track that bloomed from one line to three, on which railroad equipment were strewn around like toys. As Herbie drove around a grassy park next to the station, he appreciated the fact that there were trees all around to give him plenty of shade when the sun got very hot. Roddy steered Herbie onto a gravel driveway that went right up to the long, brick-lined platform, and parked Herbie right in front between an MG roadster and a Chevrolet Suburban SUV. The train came to a stop shortly after with a gentle squeal of the brakes.

 

“Damn,” Roddy commented as he stepped out of Herbie, “Nice ride though.” He then stretched, feeling so stiff from sleeping and also tensing up while driving fast.

 

“Right?” Jackson grinned as he stepped out of Herbie, “Trust me, you’re not gonna regret this train ride. Now let’s get some tickets first, before we do anything.”

 

“Lead the way,” Roddy nodded. Just before he left, he turned to Herbie and said jokingly, “Oh, and you behave yourself too, young bug.” Herbie flapped his hood, letting out a raspberry, and Roddy chuckled at that before following Jackson to the station.

 

(o\ ! /o)

 

A group of people were gathered near one end of the train to see the steam locomotive pass by and re-couple onto the front. Herbie watched them with interest as all their heads seemed to turn at once, following the giant machine down the track. The locomotive stopped just past a switch and a workman jumped down from the cab to tug on the switch lever. With a clunk, the new direction was set and the engine chugged its way over to the train, accompanied by loud roarings and hissings that seemed to make the already-large engine bigger than it was. Herbie trembled as it rolled by, shaking the ground with every pump of its massive pistons, before the heaving engine came to a stop. 

 

Roddy and Jackson returned with their tickets in hand as another loud noise filled the air, this time a steady, pulsating rumble, mixed with the hissing of steel on steel. From behind the steam locomotive slipped a black and orange switcher diesel, its own exhaust pumping thick, oily smoke into the air. Roddy pulled his t-shirt up over his nose, bothered by the scent as Jackson began taking pictures with the other enthusiasts. Behind the switcher was a line of antique freight cars, all various sizes including a large box car right in front that was labeled “AUTO PARTS”.

 

“That’s so cool!” Jackson yelled over the noise, pointing at the diesel locomotive, “What do you think, Roddy?!” 

 

“I think it’s rather loud!” Roddy yelled back, now covering his ears as well as his nose, “And it smells!”

 

“You get used to it!” Jackson grinned, then asked, “What about you, Herbie!?” The bug shuddered side-to-side and let out an irritated “cough” from his engine bay, flapping his hood to mime the action.

 

As if the din could not get any better, the steam train’s conductor stepped out from one of the cars and yelled, as loud as he could, “All aboard!” The crowd immediately tore themselves away from the diesel and lined up to climb aboard, joined by Roddy and Jackson. Herbie crept forward a bit and swiveled his headlights, watching everyone climb into the nice, plush passenger cars. It honestly looked rather fun to him, but the little car knew he couldn’t fit into one of those things, and he was as small as they came. Roddy looked back to see Herbie peeping at him and waved to his car, then he was rushed aboard by the next person in line, joining Jackson in one of the coach seats.

 

“Think Herbie will be ok over there?” Roddy wondered, sitting with his back facing the front of the train.

 

“I think he’ll be fine,” Jackson replied casually, setting up his camera on the window sill and sitting facing forward, “Besides, he’s gonna have fun being our camera car when we’re chasing the photo freight.”

  
“I hope you’re right.” Roddy replied, digging into his smartphone to check his messages as he commented, “It is kinda weird having to care for a car like this.”

 

“Hey, you do get used to it, I did drive a Land Rover for a while, after all.” Jackson offered a supportive smile and Roddy met it back. The two relaxed in their seats as the train got ready to go.

 

Back outside, Herbie was settling into a nice little nap. If he couldn’t ride the train, he definitely could get some shut-eye. The bug moved to the right a little bit, then suddenly swung onto his left side (after minding his side mirror) and laid down like a sleepy cat. The engineer and fireman at the steam locomotive’s controls found it quite cute; they then decided to give Herbie a little scare. After getting the all clear from the conductor, the engineer tugged the whistle cord twice. Each blast jolted Herbie up into the air in fright, before the little car slammed back onto his belly, dazed and half-deaf.

 

“Sorry little buddy!” The engineer called, “It’s just what we gotta do!” 

 

As the steam locomotive began to move, a jet of steam suddenly blasted Herbie in the face from the cylinders. Another jet then hit the bug’s front again, almost as if he was being punched by steam. With each wheel turn, the big locomotive shook the ground beneath it as it struggled to get out of the yard with a full train. The bell was now ringing and sending sharp tingles up Herbie with every peel and clang, the entire noise carnival of a train picking up speed little by little as it sailed out of the yard. Roddy and Jackson soon sighted Herbie in the parking lot and gave the car a wave before they disappeared with the rest of the train, the last car leaving the platform a few seconds later. As the little car found his bearings again, he realized something: Trains are loud. Fun, but very loud.

 

On board the passenger train, Roddy looked out at the expansive groves that lined both sides of the railroad as the train picked up speed. His ears were picking up the conversations around him, but he decided to remain respectfully quiet for Jackson’s filming. Behind him, a couple enthusiasts were having a spirited discussion about what they called “fallen flags”, which Jackson explained was slang for “dead railroad,” while another group on the other side of the car had broken out into a traditional railroad song. The Filipino looked down at his phone; no reception. Well, at least the landscape was pretty to look at. 

 

Back at the station, the diesel switcher detached from the freight train and was humming along on the line nearest the platform. Herbie felt the ground shake again, like an earthquake was striking, only this time he was also getting rained on by oil-filled engine exhaust. Wiping it off his windshield did not help, but only worsened the smearing. With an irritated beep, Herbie squirted his windscreen with washer fluid and continued to think in his parking space. As he thought, he returned to his want to ride a train like Roddy. It was then his headlights focused on the Auto Parts boxcar he saw earlier. The car had huge double doors; combined, they covered a hole just as long as him. Herbie’s antenna wagged; he knew what he wanted to ride now. 

 

(o\ ! /o)

 

Inside the boxcar, a filthy, grizzled old man with a long beard slept upon a mat made from flattened cardboard boxes. Around his body, a blue vinyl tarp helped kept him nice and warm. A worn duffel bag served as his pack and his pillow, and a blue wool knit cap kept his crown well-protected. He had been in the boxcar now for several days, just long enough until the car was moved and put somewhere new. The old hobo felt peace in that boxcar, a peace he had not felt in a while; peace that was suddenly broken when two doors slammed open.

 

“Huh, what the?!” He yelled, lifting his head up quickly and drawing his tarp over him like a shield. As his eyes whipped open, all he could see was vague light, but nothing else. “Who’s there!?” He yelled again, “I’m warnin’ ya; I’m blind and extremely dangerous!”

 

Herbie was surprised to find someone already inside the boxcar and had half a mind to find another car to park in. However, upon learning he was blind, Herbie figured they would have enough room inside the boxcar to co-exist. The entire boxcar leaned to one side, groaning on its wheels as Herbie lifted his front up and used his back wheels to hop right into the car. The hobo backed up as he felt something get closer to him, then lowered his tarp-shield as Herbie backed up and parked at the other end of the long car. Realizing that the new occupant was no policeman or railroad worker, the hobo dropped his shield fully and staggered to his feet, reaching out to the little car.

 

“You there; big fella.” He gestured for Herbie to come closer, speaking in a hoarse, twangy tone, “I don’t believe we’ve met in these parts. My name’s Pete; most folks call me Blind Pete, though. What’s your name?” When Herbie beeped back gently, Pete’s brows furrowed in confusion. “You got some kinda… voice box or somethin’?” He wondered, staggering closer to Herbie and putting a hand right on his hood. The entire car stiffened as Pete commented, “Huh, you’re awful cold, and a little firm in the belly too. Here.” He turned around and lazily threw his tarp at Herbie’s hood, saying, “You feel like you oughta warm yourself up there, big fella; us hobos gotta watch out for each other.” Herbie lifted his hood to peek from under the tarp at Pete as the old man laid back down on his cardboard mat. This was certainly going to be an interesting train journey.

 

Thirty minutes later, the steam locomotive pulled its train back into Fillmore. Inside, Roddy looked out the window and found that instead of Herbie in his parking spot, a white minivan had now taken residence and was unloading the family inside. His blood ran cold as he poked Jackson on the knee then pointed outside.

 

“Whoa,” Jackson said as he looked out to where Roddy pointed, “Where’d Herbie go?”

 

“I don’t think he was towed,” Roddy reasoned, “I wasn’t parking illegally, was I?”

 

“Not that I know of,” Jackson scratched at his afro, “Maybe he wandered off again; he usually finds his way back to you, after all.” Roddy thought for a moment, trying to flush the negative thoughts out of his head.

 

“You’re right, Jackson.” He nodded as the train came to a stop, “He can find his way back to me, like your German Shepherd.”

 

“That’s right.” Jackson replied, “Just like her. Now come on, let’s see the loco couple to the freight train.”

 

“Ok!” Roddy nodded, getting out of his seat and following Jackson out of the coach.

 

Herbie could hear the loud rumbling of the steam locomotive outside mix with the excited crowd noises as the enthusiasts made their way to the railroad crossing. The sharp bark of the locomotive’s whistle still sent chills up his chassis as he saw Pete suddenly rise to his feet again and begin feeling around for his stuff. The car instinctively locked his parking brake on as Pete spoke again.

 

“That’s my ride outta here,” He said with a hint of sentimentality, “I’m gonna miss this place, but don’t worry! Like I said, we hobos gotta stick together, so I’ll make sure nothin’ happens to ya, big fella!” He then held out his hand to shake and Herbie, caught in a moment of panic, instead offered his hood handle to shake. “Huh, very weird.” Pete wondered as he shook Herbie’s hood up and down, “Even your hands’re all cold n’ clammy. You sure you aren’t a leper?”

 

A sudden jolt threw any explanation out of Herbie’s carburetor as the locomotive was now coupled to the freight train. Roddy had joined Jackson and the other enthusiasts across the street and was just about ready to take pictures of the train as it passed by. He admitted to himself that during the morning, he wasn’t into trains much; now, thanks to Jackson, he was beginning to take a shine to the antiquated machines. Squeezed up between a rotund enthusiast and another who was kneeling behind a short tripod, Roddy raised his phone and braced his ears as the locomotive let out two loud notes on its whistle.

 

“Here it comes!” Jackson yelled before starting his filming, wincing at the sharp hissing of steam escaping the locomotive’s cylinders. The bell on the engine mixed with the bell of the crossing gates, and the enormous din of the steam, the whistle, and the bells made both Roddy and Jackson know they were not going to any loud concerts any time soon. As the train glided over the crossing, a teenage enthusiast up the photographer row suddenly looked up at his camera and watched the giant auto-parts boxcar go by. Something in the door had caught his attention.

 

“Hey!” He shouted, his squeaky voice cutting through the noise, “Is that someone’s car in there!?”

 

“Car?” Roddy distinctly heard, then he looked up and saw the Auto Parts boxcar glide past. Peeking out of the doorway was a hobo waving eagerly at the crowd, and a Volkswagen Beetle right behind him, waving its antenna; a Volkswagen Beetle that Roddy recognized as he shouted out loud, “HERBIE?!” Unfortunately, the train’s whistle drowned out his yells to everyone except his friend.

 

“Dude, you’re seeing it too, right?” Jackson said as he kept his camera focused on the train passing by. Roddy had lowered his phone by this point and watched the train pick up speed as it left the station. Immediately, panic had set in and Roddy jetted across the street as fast as his little legs could carry him. Leaping over a station wagon’s hood, Roddy used every ounce of speed he had to try and catch up to the train as it paralleled a bike path. The caboose at the end of the train was so close he could grab the safety rail, and he yelled with all his might to get the crew’s attention.

 

“Please, stop!” He exclaimed, “My car’s aboard your train! Stop!” When he saw nobody respond, Roddy began to slow down until he came to an exhausted, panting, sweaty stop. He did not even hear Jackson suddenly running up behind him, equally out of breath but still wanting to help.

 

“Roddy, dude!” Jackson groaned, taking a few deep breaths before continuing, “One of the railfans are offering us a ride to chase the train. Is that ok?” Roddy nodded quietly, gathering enough strength to stand up and look Jackson daringly in the eye.

 

“Absolutely alright.” He said, his voice filled with determination, “Let’s get my car back!”

 

“One question though,” Jackson then asked, “Are you mad at Herbie?”

 

Roddy thought for a good long while as Jackson led him to one of the enthusiasts’ car, a white Toyota Corolla sedan. As he settled into the backseat and the smell of horrid air freshener and stale chips filled his nose, Roddy did wonder if he was mad with Herbie. ‘No,’ he thought to himself, ‘Herbie probably just wanted to ride a train like us, perfectly acceptable thing to want to do. I definitely don’t want to scare my new friend away, and I’m certainly no parent.’ 

 

“No,” He finally said, drawing Jackson’s attention.

 

“No?” His friend repeated, “What do you mean?”

 

“I’m not mad at Herbie,” Roddy explained, “I’m just happy he’s ok.” 

 

(o\ ! /o)

 

Down the line, Pete was now sitting on the floor with his legs dangling out of the car, enjoying the cool breeze that wisped through his beard and long, unkempt hair. Herbie stood behind him, watching the huge fruit groves stretch out as far as his headlights could see. As he did, the little car somehow felt free and at ease, something he had never felt before. Maybe this hobo business was not so bad after all, he thought. Pete seemed to feel Herbie’s own feelings and sighed dreamily.

 

“The life, ain’t it?” He mused, “Goin’ coast to coast on no-one’s dime, seein’ the big sky when you wake up, it’s absolutely great.” Herbie beeped an affirmative which caused Pete to laugh as they sped past a crossing. “I totally vibe with you, big fella.” The hobo grinned, “Even if you are one tough guy to understand.”

 

Suddenly, the train jerked forward, and Herbie was sent in the same direction, with his tires skidding on the metal floor. Pete held steady on the boxcar’s door frame and looked ahead in their vague direction of travel. The locomotive’s thunderous chugs had died down, replaced with a shudder as the brakes were activated. The engineer and fireman peeked out of the cab to see someone waving a red handkerchief at the next crossing and slowed the train down to a hissing halt. The one waving the handkerchief was Roddy, standing on the roof of the Corolla and swiftly handing the cloth back to its owner. As he got down from the car, the engineer and fireman also emerged from their locomotive, joined by the conductor and the brakeman from all the way in the caboose.

 

“Ok, what’s the matter.” The conductor said, more to-the-point than irritated. His sharp features and mature, grey hair helped to emphasize his authoritative appearance.

 

“Uh, I don’t mean to interrupt your guys’ little excursion,” Roddy admitted, seeing the growing line of enthusiast cars behind the little Corolla, “But there’s something on board the train that belongs to me, and I don’t know how it got in there.”

 

“Got in there?” The brakeman, a long-haired man Roddy’s age, asked, “That’s impossible, we checked this train up and down before we left it.”

 

“Do you know who put it in there?” The conductor pressed further.

 

“Not that I know of.” Roddy said, lying through his teeth. He did not know how to explain Herbie’s sentience, but that was all he could say. 

 

“Alright,” The conductor said, looking back at the train, “Let’s look in there and see which thing is yours.”

 

“Well, I guess this means I’m goin.” Pete said back at the boxcar, his sharpened ears picking up the conversation, “Can’t have anyone keeping ol’ Pete down.” He turned to Herbie and, with genuine emotion, said, “You take care of yourself big fella, it’s a hard world out there with a lotta bad people. We gotta keep a look out for each other.” He then got up, waved bye in Herbie’s vague direction, then stepped out of the doorway. He briefly walked on thin air, then suddenly face-planted into the dirt from six feet up..

 

“Ow!” He shouted as he hauled himself up from the dirt angel he made, assuring Herbie, “I’m ok!” Upon hearing footsteps, Pete secured his duffel bag and sneaked off into the fruit groves, swiftly disappearing. 

 

“We have to do something about that man,” The conductor commented, watching Pete stagger off, “He’s been sneaking into our yard for a month now.”

 

“Aw, don’t hurt Pete.” The engineer shrugged, “He’s good entertainment.”

 

The five men presently walked up to the auto parts boxcar and drew the doors apart. When Roddy stood up on tiptoe to peek in, he found the guilty headlights and bumper of Herbie peeking at him from the darkness. Roddy sighed and smiled, climbing into the boxcar and approaching the scared little car.

 

“It’s ok, bud.” He assured in his softest voice, so soft he hoped the people outside could not hear him, “I’m not mad; I’m just happy you’re safe.” Herbie tensed up more as Roddy approached, then suddenly relaxed as his owner reached out and petted his hood. Herbie purred and rolled out towards the door, where Roddy carefully climbed down and the baffled train crew came face to face with whatever was in there.

 

“Who the heck puts a car in here?” The fireman wondered.

 

“It wasn’t me.” The brakeman defended himself, “It was probably Mikey; you know how much of a prankster he is!”

 

“Ok, before we lay the blame,” The conductor said seriously, “Let’s just get this car out of here.” 

 

Upon Herbie’s emergence from the boxcar, the enthusiasts cheered and applauded as the bug hopped out of the boxcar and suddenly sank his tires two-inches into the dirt. Jackson even stifled a laugh as Herbie struggled to get out of the soft soil and Roddy had to resort to pushing the small car onto some firmer soil. As Herbie approached Jackson, he couldn’t help but laugh at Herbie, but in a warm way.

 

“Did you have fun riding a train then, guy?” He smiled, petting Herbie’s hood. Herbie nodded and beeped happily, but was suddenly drowned out by the steam locomotive’s loud whistle.

 

“Forget riding trains!” Roddy yelled out, “We still got a train to chase!” The other enthusiasts seemed to agree as they filmed the freight train slowly leaving the road crossing, then they piled into their cars once the train had passed. 

 

Herbie opened his sunroof and let Jackson stand on his passenger seat as the long-haired man affixed a camera to his roof. Holding onto the top of Herbie’s windshield, Jackson flashed a thumbs-up at Roddy. Putting Herbie into gear, Roddy sped away down the highway after the train, feeling all the excitement that a train chase could give them. By the end of the run at the Santa Paula train depot, everyone was exhausted, but also very happy. Roddy had Herbie parked a bit away from the train station, at a dirt lot next to an agricultural museum, and was watching the steam locomotive as it sat static, allowing the enthusiasts to take pictures of it. 

 

“Well, this was certainly a weird day.” Roddy chuckled, patting Herbie’s roof.

 

“Absolutely,” Jackson nodded, leaning on Herbie’s other side, “And think of how many train rides we can go to after this!”

 

“Well, so long as they can provide for Herbie.” Roddy smirked, looking down at the little car, “Or give you something to do, little hyperactive bub.” Herbie swiveled his tires in the dirt with embarrassment, definitely promising not to do that again. Suddenly, an older, thin enthusiast ran up to the three of them.

 

“Hey,” He said in a deep voice, “Would you guys mind posing for us with Number 14? We really can’t forget this day.”

 

“Of course!” Roddy nodded, until the enthusiast stopped them short.

 

“Including your car,” He added, pointing at Herbie.

 

“Oh, okay.” Roddy agreed, “Let’s go pose him.”

 

Herbie found himself posed on the locomotive’s right, the Western sun high in the sky and providing ample light as Roddy and Jackson stood up in his open sunroof and the other gaggle of enthusiasts and the train crew gathered around them. Roddy looked down at Herbie as the brakeman prepared to take a picture on someone’s camera phone and smiled. ‘He may not have been a good hobo,’ Roddy thought, ‘but he does make a good car nonetheless.’ He then looked to Jackson, who met his knowing smile back and petted Herbie’s roof.

 

“Alright everyone!” the brakeman called, “Say cheese!”

 

“Cheese! 

 

(o\The End/o)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, if you're reading this, thanks a lot for checking out my story. I hope you enjoy my work plenty, and I promise you new episodes every Monday, far as I can see! Also, thank you for keeping the spirit of Herbie alive. As usual, Herbie and any related imagery are copyright Walt Disney Pictures and Buena Vista Productions.


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